


Getting Better

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 04:59:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11329083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Schmoop





	Getting Better

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Getting Better by Alicia

30 Nov 98  
Getting Better  
by Alicia  
11/98  
Disclaimers: Not mine. But I'm playing nice.  
Spoilers: Just the usual Tunguska one.  
Summary: Schmoop.  
Rating: R. Sorry; I tried ...  
Archive: Archive /X only, please.  
Author's Note: For Zootmama, with love.  
Acknowledgments: With more thanks to Te than I can express, for putting up with my whining and making me make it *lots* better.  
Feedback to , please.

* * *

***  
Getting Better  
by Alicia  
***

I am a Marine. I am nearly 50 years old. I've worked my way to the top more than once. Fucked up more than once, too, but I got here mostly without losing sight of who I am and what I stand for. I live with two wonderful men, either of whom alone would be a prize. I have more than I ever could have hoped for.

My steps drag as I walk off the elevator and toward my car. The parking garage is dim, and it suits my mood well. I slide behind the wheel with a sigh. I will not allow myself a slump, no matter how long the day was.

I'm not going home to an empty condo, I remind myself. It is undoubtedly a cheering thought. Still, sometimes I wonder. Now that Alex and Mulder have settled old scores--

The thought's too mealymouthed to finish. You couldn't pry the two of them apart with a shoehorn and a fire hose.

What do I add to the household, anyway? Especially when I'm the only one still holding down an office job. I don't really think they spend all day fucking, but they're together more of the time; it's only natural they'd grow closer to each other. It was awkward at first, Mulder fragile as broken glass and just as sharp, even when he *said* he could get past what Alex had done. Words were one thing; the day-to-day reality wasn't so easy.

But since the sparks they strike off each other changed into a more manageable fire, do they really need my bucket of sand anymore?

An automatic glance in the rear view mirror brings a grimace. I'm in good shape for a man my age; I take care of what I have, but even when I was young I was never in their class. Early mornings, watching them sleep ... Even the ugly reality of Alex's mutilation seems to enhance the perfection of the rest of his body.

I know they're not so shallow as to base their affection on looks alone. But it's human nature; people are attracted to people of similar degrees of beauty.

I pull into my parking space and sit a moment before opening the door and standing up.

***

Coming through the front door, the comforting aroma of beef stew greets me; paprika and caramelizing onions and carrots. Alex is home. I don't know what Mulder's problem is; I'm certain he *can* cook, but he seems to take a perverse pleasure in destroying any raw ingredients placed within his reach.

I carefully hang up my coat. Careful, reliable, that's me. They are good qualities, useful qualities. Making my way into the kitchen, I stop a moment in the doorway to admire the man moving gracefully from work top to stove and back again. Alex rarely wears his prosthesis around the house, but he finds it helpful for cooking, so for a moment I can imagine him as he was before. Not that it matters. Just, sometimes, the waste of it stings.

Alex turns, and I wonder whether I've made some small noise, or if it's just whatever odd sense he used to survive all these years. Six months ago, he'd have had that knife in his hand before he turned around. Things do change.

His look of expectation broadens into a smile, and my guts un-knot a bit. I step closer and he leans into me a moment, tilting his head for a brief but welcoming kiss. "You don't want to be in here in your dress shirt," he comments with a hint of regret as we pull apart. "I'm making messes."

When did his habitual expression become this open, shining happiness? Not until long after Mulder had moved in, though I like to think it started earlier, during the first months he was here, before Mulder even knew he was still alive. Somewhere along the way he stopped looking like he was ready to find himself on the floor in the hallway ... or out on the balcony again.

Not one of my finer moments, but I did owe him, and Alex understands that kind of thing. I think it actually made him more comfortable, in a way.

He keeps shooing me out of the kitchen, and I wander down the hallway to go change out of my Beltway uniform.

The door to the study is open; Mulder is online, as usual. The world may have changed, but Mulder's passion for more and deeper knowledge hasn't faded in the least. If anything, he's more eager now that the boundaries have shifted.

Once in the bedroom, I succumb to the lure of the shower. Maybe they *would* do as well or better without me, but they don't seem to have noticed that yet, so I might as well relax. Mulder wears a sulk well, but I just look like an idiot. At least I realize it. Self-aware idiot. The thought makes me chuckle as I stand under the spray. Hard to stay morose while being pelted with clean, just-this-side-of-too-hot water.

A swirl of cooler air announces that the bathroom door has opened. Mulder and his endless glasses of iced tea. It's a wonder he ever leaves the bathroom at all. But then the shower door is pulled back and a pair of smile-crinkled hazel eyes blink at me. "Mind some company?"

Mulder, nude already, doesn't wait for the obvious answer, and I stand aside to let him get wet. He grins his thanks, then closes his eyes to savor that first moment of utter drenching. I sometimes wonder if he's part seal; he swims like one--or maybe an otter, no layer of fat on him, and that softer-than-silk hair ...

Alex, by contrast, though he certainly enjoys the luxury of hot water--and probably appreciates it more than either of us--never has that look of coming-home that Mulder has when he steps into the bath or dives neatly into a pool. Something inherently feline about Alex holds him apart from the water; he accepts its gifts but doesn't let it affect him.

Warm lips on mine interrupt my musings. "You didn't say hello," Mulder complains.

"You were working. Didn't want to disturb you."

A look of gentle reproach. "Walter." Mulder bends his head, starts kissing his way down my throat, and my head falls back in willing surrender. "You can 'disturb' me anytime. Am I disturbing you?" he asks.

Soft mouth on my collarbone, licking, warm and wet as the shower spray, but infinitely more arousing. Mulder's tongue brushes the upper curve of my chest, and I hiss in pleasure and anticipation.

"Mmm?"

"Wh--? N-no, not disturbing ..."

"So glad to hear it...." Mulder's voice is a caress as his hands slide up from my waist to stroke already-aching nipples, and I can't suppress a moan. Not that I need to; Alex was always an uninhibited lover, and even Mulder had quickly acknowledged the advantages of being more vocal.

His fingers tighten on my skin, and that mouth, a mouth I've never stopped dreaming about, even now that the long-considered mysteries of how it would taste, how it would feel, have been answered, is greeting mine, soft lips against mine.... My mouth opens, part invitation, part involuntary response.

I pull together enough coherency to kiss Mulder back, losing myself in the slide of skin on skin, flesh heating. I might be getting older, but I'm not dead yet. And if anything could revive the dead, it would be two armsful of slippery, amorous Fox Mulder.

When the water runs cool we spill out of the shower, barely taking time to towel off before stumbling still-entangled into the bedroom. I am so intent on licking Mulder dry that I nearly fall on top of Alex without even seeing him.

"Have a good shower?"

I widen my focus and am amply rewarded. Alex has always been worth a second look, and apparently he wasn't idle while we were in the shower. The bedcovers are pulled back, and Alex is sprawled, nude, amidst a pile of pillows.

"Sure sounded like you were having fun." Another man might sound plaintive, or even catty, but Alex's tone holds only genuine appreciation.

"I--uh--thought you were busy. Cooking," I offer.

Get a brilliant smile in return. "Never too busy for you." Alex pats the bed next to him. "You guys gonna leave me here all by myself?"

Mulder slants a grin at me, tugs my hand as he dives for the bed. Seeing their faces light up as they look at each other, I think for a fraction of a second about feeling sorry for myself again, but then they are both looking up at me expectantly, and the anticipated pain simply isn't there. I feel my face crease in a smile as I kneel--more carefully than Mulder, but that's only sensible--and am drawn into a hug that drowns out any possibility of ill humor. Alex's warm lips on mine, and Mulder's on my neck, and was there ever anything better than this?

"We miss you when you're gone all day," Mulder murmurs into my ear.

"So we have to think of ways to amuse you once you get home," Alex adds, eyes glinting at me.

"You wanna hear what we came up with today?"

Maybe things can get even better after all.

***

end.


End file.
